


Lies

by DontSaveTheHero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Dean can't handle it, F/M, Jo's dead, Mental Health Issues, Sam's concerned, that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontSaveTheHero/pseuds/DontSaveTheHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They keep telling him that she's dead, that she's been dead for a long time, and that there's no way she could ever be there with him. Dean knows that they're wrong, because he sees her all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

It was Sam, his brother, who had insisted that Dean take a room in the hospital. Sam visited often, but he always looked so sad. Dean had grown accustomed to people looking at him like that, like there was some terrible news that he was missing out on. Everyone looked at him like that nowadays, and they always said the same thing when he asked why.

“Because she's gone, Dean, and at some point, you have to accept that.”

Dean couldn't accept it, because it wasn't true. No one was gone, no one was dead. He told them that, every time, and eventually, people slowly stopped trying to talk to him. Dean didn't mind the loss of company so much, because he was never alone. She was always with him, talking to him, reminding him that she was _always_ going to be with him.

“Why do they keep trying to tell me you're not here?” Dean asked her, more than once.

Jo's smile always made him feel reassured in a way nothing else could. “You see me. I'm right here.”

She would reach out and touch his face, and Dean could feel the soft skin of her fingers and it would rid him of any of the doubts he might have had about the subject. He pressed his lips against her forehead and it was solid and warm, and her lips were never dry but instead so _alive_ that Dean could let himself forget what other people thought.

Jo was always there when he had nightmares. In his dreams, he saw her the way people described her: dead, bleeding away on the floor, her blood pooling around her in a way that would be fascinating and pretty if it weren't so horrific and awful. These dreams always felt more real than any dream had the right to, from the way the detail captured her still face to how solid her body felt when Dean held her in his arms, sobbing, pleading, apologizing.

Dean woke up on those terrible nights, and Jo would be there, stroking his face with gentle hands until the tears that covered his face dried. In the waking hours, Dean couldn't remember what got him so worked up at night. The dreams would fade so quickly that he struggled to recall even a single element of them.

Once, when Sam visited in the early morning, Dean had a breakthrough. “Sammy, I gotta be honest with you. I keep having these stupid nightmares, man, and they're starting to really get under my skin.”

“People say that if you talk about your nightmares, you'll forget about them.” Sam leaned forward in his seat, a welcoming smile at his lips.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “ They're always about Jo . She's on the floor, broken, bleeding more than  you could imagine, man . And the dreams, they just seem so  _real,_ and it's kinda freaking me out a bit.” Dean laughed and shook his head. “I mean, I  _know_ they're just dreams,  and she's fine, but- ” 

Sam's eyes had widened, and his mouth moved without any words coming out. He blinked several times and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. Dean watched, growing more concerned every second.

“Come on, Sammy, talk to me.”

“Dean,” Sam struggled to say. “Dean, those aren't just dreams.”

Dean fixed his brother with an odd look. “What are you talking about? Of course they're just dreams.”

“Dean,” Sam said again, and it seemed like that was the easiest word for Sam to say. “It's what we keep trying to tell you. If you're starting to remember- Dean, this is great!”

Dean crossed his arms. “Well, could you let me in on it?”

“Jo's dead, she's been dead. You-” Sam faltered, “maybe we should take this one step at a time.”

Dean glanced at Jo, and at her hand that was resting on his shoulder. “What? What about me?”

“Dean, we all know that you didn't mean to.”

“What didn't I mean? What the _hell_ are you going on about?”

Sam couldn't meet Dean's eyes. “You killed her, Dean. Those dreams-you're remembering her death.”

“Don't you say that to me.”

“It's been years, by now you have to realize-”

“If I killed her, I'd be in prison.”

“You pleaded insanity, or your lawyer and I did for you, because you kept insisting that she was still alive. That's why you're _here._ You _have_ to remember something, you were there for it all.”

Dean's jaw clenched, and the muscles in his hands ached from how hard he was making fists. “Why are you saying this to me? I thought you were my brother, but you keep lying to me.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, patience slipping. “You  _are_ my brother, but I can't take seeing you in some  delusional state, insisting that your dead girlfriend is still around. You're  _sick,_ Dean, and I want you to get better.”

“Get out.”

“Dean, please.” Sam's voice was a sad combination of pleading and frustration.

“Don't try to give me a load of BS and expect me to believe it. _Get out!”_ Dean stood up abruptly and gave his chair a violent kick. 

The nurses burst in through the door, two of them moving forward to restrain Dean and a third asking Sam to step out. With one last look at his agitated older brother, Sam left the room. He'd hadn't made it to the building's entrance when he heard the yelling cease.

Dean didn't speak a word to Jo until the medicine began to lose its effect. She kept flickering in and out of view, sometimes disappearing for several moments. Dean blamed it on the drugs; he suspected they gave him hallucinations, but the nurses wouldn't give him anything else.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered at last, voice cracking.

Jo sat at the edge of his bed, running her fingers through his hair. “For what?”

“I wouldn't... I _c_ _ouldn't..._ I won't ever hurt you, he's wrong, they're all wrong. You know that, right?” She had to know, he needed her to know.

“I know.”

Dean exhaled a sigh of relief, his memory already blocking out Sam's accusations. The next time his brother visited, Dean will have forgotten their last conversation entirely.

He doesn't have any other option.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing I wrote while editing a destiel-centric piece I'll publish at some point. Feedback of any kind is really cool, whether it's down in the comments section or over at punkgabriel.tumblr.com.


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